


In Paris

by DictionaryWrites2



Category: Bright Young Things, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cute, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 21:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites2/pseuds/DictionaryWrites2
Summary: He knew Miles Maitland by sight, even after so many years not seeing him in London, fussing over other young men in the Hyacinth and Vine: he had a particular manner to him, a particular way of moving about that an unkind man might describe as flouncing. Crowley was not an unkind man, of course. He was not a man at all.





	In Paris

“Is that your young lad?” Crowley asked lowly, and Aziraphale turned to look at him, giving him an unadulterated  _beam_  of a smile. They were in a wonderful little place in Paris, underground, but the food was  _good_. It was wonderful when he smiled like that, and Crowley couldn’t help the way that he smiled himself as Aziraphale leaned in on his shoulder, his arm wrapped loosely about Crowley’s.

He knew Miles Maitland by sight, even after so many years not seeing him in London, fussing over other young men in the Hyacinth and Vine: he had a particular manner to him, a particular way of moving about that an unkind man might describe as  _flouncing_. Crowley was not an unkind man, of course. He was not a man at all.

Miles sashayed his hips as he moved, and Crowley watched his companion  _rush_  ahead of him, to pull out his chair, and let Miles sit delicately down on the seat before the other man pushed it in toward the table. Miles’ coat was already laid over the man’s arm, and he carefully set it over the shoulders of Miles’ chair before he took his own seat.

He was a handsome sort, Crowley supposed. Slim, with good bone structure, a nice jawline, with soft brown eyes. He  _looked_  soft. Not the way Miles did, because Miles’ softness was flagrant and obvious, neatly settled on his body, but the other man, he was soft like a labrador retriever, with his big soulful gaze and his floppy hair, his shy body language.  

Miles leaned forward and said something over the table, and the other man  _giggled_ , laughed and squirmed in his seat, and then reached out and took Miles’ hand over the table.

“Paris is the place for it,” Aziraphale said. “City of…”

“Rats.”

“ _Crowley_.”

“Sewers?”

“Oh,  _hush,”_ Aziraphale chided him, without rancour, and said, “Miles! Dearest!”

“Oh, Ezra!” Miles exclaimed, and he threw himself about Aziraphale’s neck, kissing his cheeks. “And Tony!”

“ _Anthony_ ,” Crowley said, but he let the young man pull him down, felt the waxy shift of Miles’ lipstick against each side of his cheek, although he didn’t expect it to stain, and so it didn’t. 

“What brings you to Paris, you absolute  _darlings_?” Miles asked.

“Oh, you know,” Aziraphale said, with an airy wave of his hand. “Business.”

“You must meet my husband, Ginger,” Miles said. “Ginger, do stand up, my dear, do– they shan’t bite you, you handsome thing, come, do come, here, this is Ginger, and this is Ezra Fell, he’s saved my life a thousand times, and this is Anthony Crowley, he’s Ezra’s– Ah.” Miles trailed off, laughing delicately behind his painted nails, and Crowley grinned when Aziraphale coughed.

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale said, beaming at  _Ginger_ , who was flushed pink, and hurriedly when to shake both of their hands. 

“He’s  _my_  husband,” Crowley said confidently, and Ginger’s lips parted as he looked Crowley in the sunglasses, but then relaxed, just slightly, his shoulders loosening, and he nodded.

“Oh, well, you know, dashed– dashed nice to meet you, ah, Miles has mentioned you before, of course, er, Mr Fell–”

“ _Ezra_ , please,” Aziraphale said.

“Ah, well, Ezra, Miles says you have the most wonderful repository of books in London–”

“I didn’t know you could  _read_ , Miles,” Crowley said pleasantly. 

“I recently obtained the talent,” Miles said with faux-archness, but his eyes glittered with delight. “You simply  _must_  join us, the both of you!”

“Must we?” Crowley complained.

“We  _must_ ,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley sighed, loudly, but then drew Aziraphale’s hand up to his mouth, and he kissed it, brushing his mouth over the back of the soft flesh there, and Aziraphale shivered with delight. 

“See?” he heard Miles say, in a low voice not meant to be heard. “I told you.”

“Yes, dear,” he heard Ginger reply, and he hid a smile against the inside of Aziraphale’s wrist before they sat down with the two young men. 


End file.
